Two Devils Walk into a Bar
by Tsona
Summary: FINISHED! Iago of Shakespeare's Othello meets Milton's Satan in a bar and the two spar over who is the most dastardly. Meant as an intro to a school paper, but humorous nonetheless, in that English major sort of way.


_A/N: I was supposed to be writing an essay comparing Shakespeare's Iago (_Othello_) and Milton's Satan (_Paradise Lost_). But that seemed ever so boring. Instead, I ended up writing this story version of the paper, which I did eventually write. It's somewhat amusing and so I thought I'd share it with the world. Enjoy!_

_Yours forever, Tsona_

Smoke from the fiery seas lapping at the door of the crowded pub drifted through the room, its sulfurous stench clinging to the bare, ashy skins and the singed, soot-ingrained apparel of the patrons. Its orange glow slanted upward through the windows, casting strange patterns upon the ceiling and barely catching on the faces of those contained inside the walls of the barroom. The jocular conversation and raspy laughter of the devils at drink drowned out the moans and whimpers of the humans, none of whom could endure that eldritch sound. All except one.

"O Great Potentate, leader of our army, whom none but the Omnipotent himself could have overcome, speak to us once more of the fall of man, what machinations thou did enact to bring about that mighty act."

The mighty demon addressed bowed his horned head over his tankard, masking a smirk. How he did enjoy these archaic epithets. Such honorable titles they made, and how fitting, for all spoke truly of him. His age and fallen state was betrayed in the arch of his shoulders, the darkly burned skin. But, remnants remained of his once bright self. The eyes, as he raised his head from the liquor, that caught onto the devil who had spoken were alert and scintillated still with malice and vigor.

"You wish again to hear the old tale, Chemos? Very well. I am ever willing to fulfill the commands of those I command. I will relate again the story."

"By Jove, speak not, fallen one, or I may yet repent my sins."

The demon posse looked into the dark corner from which had emanated the sarcastic sneer. There, alone, reclined the figure of a man. He pushed back his chair so that it balanced precipitously on the two aft legs. His rich black velvet doublet seemed yet untainted by the noxious air of that place. A sheathed dagger dangled from a belt fastened about his waist. His boots still gleamed, his skin was still smooth and white, and his dark, beetled brows, expertly parted mane and short goatee were free from ash. His eyes, dark as tar and tiny in sunken sockets, regarded the high devil with haughty contempt.

"Speak you to me thus, mortal?"

"Yea, devil, I do." He allowed the front legs of the chair to come crashing to the floor and slipped off of it with unctuous grace. He strode forward, untrembling, and with a straight back, to confront the seated Lord of Pandemonium. "For, by my troth, I do think myself the greater devil."

"'Tis a grave protest thou dost raise. For I have fought the Omnipotent and have outwitted him, but for the coming of his Son on his fiery chariot. I have overcome a mighty defeat and nine-day fall through Chaos to rise once more victorious over that Bright Deity in the downfall of his new-created race, among which thou dost count thyself. I, thine Enemy, am. T'was I that so did paint thine untainted heart with pitch that thou wast thrown from thine green and gleaming Paradise and given o'er to mine daughter and son, Sin and Death. What claims have you upon such glories as I?

"Thou, Satan, cannot claim such depths of wickedness as I. By whispers deadly, by prod and by engendering the seed of black fancy I have caused the death and downfall of many whom would call me an 'honest man' that 'hates the slime that sticks on filthy deeds.' I did so without the powers thou needst. I killed the nobleman Roderigo, stabbed the lieutenant Cassio, convinced the Moor Othello to kill his wife, claiming her to be dishonest to their bedchamber, and he for his grief upon discovering her chaste, did damage to himself. That man here lies in yonder pool of flame, paying thee for his suicide. This done, I stabbed mine wife, for she spoke ill and betrayed my falsehoods to the the Moor and to the kinsman of that man's white bride, the fair Desdemona."

Satan lifted the dark ale to his chapped lips, regarding all the while the Venetian gentleman before him.

"Thy scroll is heavy taxed and the charges grave. But it is so for many in this gloomy Hell. Souls thou hast reaped by black design. But I bear the blame for many more fallen and expired, sent to face the Son of the Omnipotent and those in whose glowing company once I stood and shone with their same heavenly light, including those you claim to have reaved of that vigorous spark."

"Ay! And therein lies the difference. Devil, do you see it not? By my design those souls fell. At best, thy score is two fallen. Yea! Even those are even but corrupted, not dead. On villains as myself did thou ever need rely, or else naught would thee have achieved."

Amid the sulfurous atmosphere of the dark and gloomy Hell, the debate raged and raged. After all, this is Hell; there's an eternity to waste in squabble.

_A/N: There you are. The eternal question of evil versus evil remains, although I do believe I decided in favor of Iago in the end. Let me know what you think. Long live the Bard!_

_Yours forever, Tsona_


End file.
